Chasing Walkers
by demonarsekickers
Summary: Oakley Miller is an ordinary teenaged girl; Stubborn with trust issues maybe, but who wouldn't be after the apocalypse occurred. When on her own she stumbles across a group of survivors. Will they help her live or be totally against prolonging her existence... (written by Holly)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Sadly I do not own The Walking Dead or the characters used except for Oakley Miller.**

 **Hey guys, it's Holly. Basically I've been obsessed with the walking dead and wanted to write a fic and here's the result of it. I'm writing this on my own and not with Katie (queue 'All by myself' to be played) so if it's crappy I'm sorry . I might make a book trailer and post the link, but yeah. Also can we appreciate the cover and how long it took to make?**

 **Anyway enjoy the story and like, comment and vote!**

I pull the worn out, tatty rucksack onto my back and start moving. I can't stay here again; I'd been here for too long. Turning around briefly I glance behind me making sure I left no evidence of where I'd been sleeping. You may be thinking: 'yet another teenager who's ran away from home' or 'who's too spoiled to realise what they have', but I'm on the run for a reason: The world has ended.

Dramatic I know, but it tends to lose it's excitement when you've been on your own for months, not able to keep track of time and you have zombies trying to knaw your arm off everywhere you go. I guess that's what happens in this wasteland of a world. Maybe it's karma, we had no respect for the world so we get no safety or a proper life.

Anyway I've been travelling through Atlanta in the sweltering heat with no one, just myself for safety and entertainment, even though I'm hilarious (when you start to invent puns about trees, I think that's a clear sign that a career in comedy should no be pursued), trying to get from point A to point B. I carry on walking through the woods, leaves cracking and twigs snapping as my boots navigate my path. I'm going into the unknown.

I walk quickly to ensure I get to a safer area so that I can sleep for the night, or at least a couple of hours. It does that to you, the apocalypse, it prevents you from being able to breathe without the fear of death looming over your shoulders. Just surviving is a task now.

I carry on trudging along the remnants of a path that was almost intelligible. I wonder if the semi-permanent pink dye has faded from my hair now that I've been exposed to the elements for months. Oh God. I guarantee my brown eyes look even more like a muddy puddle now that I've had hardly any sleep. At least I might have a tan from being out in the sun all day, everyday. I lift my arm up in front of my eyes and push back the sleeves on my red flannel shirt that was smeared with dirt. My arms were the same pale shade as they'd been all my life. Why was I even bothering with wondering how I looked? There was no need for vanity anymore considering that no one was there to appreciate it. Besides, I know what I looked like: a mess.

After my analysis I glance around looking out for the undead. They'd been getting more active as the climate increased in temperature. I gripped the handle of the knife that was tucked into my belt that kept my weapons ,and trousers, secure. In the last week I've had at least eight encounters with them which is double the amount I've had in the previous months. Their flesh is slowly melting and decaying away from the bone, enabling you to see things that frankly I'd much rather not. I mean who wants to be walking through the forest and bam flesh falls at your feet and they try to eat you. No thank you, kindly to you good sir. As I'm thinking this I turn a corner and find what appears to be an abandoned cabin nestled in the far edge of the forest, hidden by an army of trees and boulders. Sprinting, I head straight towards the cabin, or as I like to think of it heaven.

Slowly, I open the door and jump about a foot in the air as it creaks. My gaze flits around the one room and I gasp, caught unaware.


	2. Chapter 2

Slowly, I open the door and jump about a foot in the air as it creaks. My gaze flits around the one room and I gasp, caught unaware. Standing in the corner were two shadows that were raiding the now bug eaten cupboards for supplies, I guess. Somehow they hadn't heard the door creak, thank the Lord, so I had the advantage. What was I thinking; I'd never have the advantage against a 6ft man in a biker jacket with a bow and arrows and a blonde girl who was laden with knives. I'd be safer running through a house of walkers because as you come to learn, you come to fear the living more than the dead. Yes, I know you must be thinking: why do you need to be scared of people who can help you, but think about it, a piece of rotting flesh with no brain, or a human who has the brain capacity (and weapons) to torture you. Frankly, I'd much rather the first.

I pull my backpack further up onto my shoulder, ensuring that the contents wouldn't fall out and slowly step backwards, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sadly, considering it's my life (queue a bit of bonjovi), I step backwards once more and the loudest creak of the floorboards echoed around the whole cabin. As fast as lightning, the unlikely partners spun around to find the source of the sound. They'd drawn their weapons and their eyes land on not a walker, but me, a short girl with faded pink hair and clothes covered in grime. To be honest, I'd be scared of myself if I saw me sneaking away too.

The two looked me up and down, judging both the dangers and safety of me. Luckily for me my knife was concealed in between my belt and waistband of my black, filthy jeans. Unluckily for me, if I so much as flinched I'd get impaled with an arrow from the bikers bow. Such fun...

I looked them up and down, assessing them myself. I wonder how fast they'd act if I stepped backwards. Actually, thinking about that I'd rather try and plead my way out of this situation rather than get an arrow shaped hole in my leg. We look at each other; them at me and me at them, not yet succumbing to the temptation of breaking the silence.

"Hi." The blonde girl with a strong southern accent spoke up pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. The filthy biker gave the girl a glare and continued to stare at me. "Who are you?"

I'm still in shock by the pleasant, if not slightly awkward interaction that had just occurred.

"I'm Oakley. Oakley... Miller." I stutter my name and chastise myself for sounding so nervous.

"Hey Oakley! I'm Beth and this is Daryl, my bo-friend." She stuttered too. Daryl grunted when he was introduced by Beth, but when she stuttered, he smiled subtly (and by subtly I mean a slight grimace to replace the mean expression on his face). I shook Beth's hand and went to shake Daryl's. To my surprise he gripped my hand, but a little too tightly for my liking almost making me wince at the pressure.

"Ummm... I only came in here to find shelter and get away from the walkers. I can go now. I don't want to be a bother; you got here first." I try to plead with them to show that I have some decency in this infected world. As I spoke, Beth was calculating her response.

"We know a place where you could get away from the walkers for a little bit. We have cars, clean wat-"

"Beth! We need to follow Rick's protocol. You know the score." Daryl looked pointedly at Beth and then stared at me. "How many walkers have you killed?"

I give a questioning look and answer slowly, "I've lost count. They're everywhere."

Daryl nodded and proceeded with his next question, "How many people have you killed?"

At this my eyes moved to his quickly. "None and I hope I don't ever have to." I frown at the thought. How many people had killed others. Yes, some people could be twisted and torturous, but why would you kill another human being when the world was going to shit?

Beth was beaming up at me and was obviously pleased with my answers. She nodded encouragingly when I gave her an unsure look. Daryl shrugged looked at Beth and back to me again.

"If you put so much as a toe out of line then an arrow will end up through your foot." With this Daryl tugged his bow higher and walked out of the hut, leaving Beth with a bag of food and supplies.

"Where are we going exactly?" I curiously add as I grabbed a sack of supplies to help her. "Are there other survivers apart from you and Mr delightful Daryl, over here?" I asked as Beth chuckled.

"Well there's about fifteen of us all in a prison that we've set up camp in. You may get questioned by Rick, the leader, though. No offence, but we can't be too careful now a days." We started to walk slowly to where Daryl was standing just outside the door of the hut and Beth nodded to the west of the forest. Daryl started to walk in the direction and Beth caught up with him leaving me to dwell on my thoughts.

It had been months since the apocalypse had started. I don't know if my family survived. I don't know where they are. I don't know who's left. I know they'd want me to try and survive, but what if they'd gone back to our family home and looked for me? I imagine my mum and dad dragging my siblings along hunting for me. I imagine being united with them and being wrapped up in their warm embrace and feel like I'm at home regardless of where we were, because we were together. Sadly life doesn't turn out how you want it and you take things for granted, never realising how much you appreciate being able to see your family, until it's too late and the mundane like things you used to do aren't mundane anymore.

As I was thinking, this I realised that Beth and Daryl had stopped at a fairly modern car. They were starting to climb into the front seats when I asked "You've found a car with petrol?!"

"Yeah. I can't drive yet, so Daryl or Rick drives usually, sometime Michonne." I don't know who these people are (except for Daryl), but mod regardless. "I wouldn't think you could drive anyway. How old are you, Oakley?"

"I'm almost 16. I know I can't drive, but I could teach myself. I mean it's not like a police officer can pull me over." I start to get in the car and sit down, thankful for the plush, comfy seats that I hadn't experienced for a long time.

For the entire drive we sat in silence, apart from Daryl's grunts every so often as he dodged walkers. We followed the main road until we pulled up outside of a massive prison that was guarded with several 8ft high metal fences. Walkers were dragging their legs around the grassy area outside the prison, not paying attention to us as the gate was opened slowly. Daryl started to drive again and we were pulling into the second heavily guarded area. Another gate was open and I looked around at everything. No one was outside.

"You live here? How did you manage to clear it out?"

To my surprise Daryl answered, "Hard work." As we started to drive again I looked up and locked eyes with a boy about 15 or 16 in age pulling open one of the gates.


End file.
